


touch still too light

by orphan_account



Series: could've been [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: :'), M/M, set when they were training together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-03-21 04:55:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13733592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It only took two and a half weeks for JJ to cut his hair.





	1. Chapter 1

It only took two and a half weeks for JJ to cut his hair.

Otabek glanced at JJ as he was making breakfast in the kitchen (a shake and toast) among the twins, Pierre and another two girls' whose names he couldn't get straight yet. It was JJ's siblings who reacted first. The youngest started yelling and JJ stooped down to let them put their hands in the fresh undercut. (Otabek was still staring, hand on the lid of the blender). Pierre said something to his brother in French but it sounded alot like " _what the hell, JJ_?!" with a laugh on the end. Then Pierre said, "Just like Otabek, huh?" and they looked at Otabek, still trying to come up with a comeback. He was generally a quiet person, and immersed into a world of English was a good excuse for being so. Still, he didn't know what to say. But JJ, ever-talking JJ, filled in the gap, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender.

"I just wanna be  _cooooool_ , like Otabek," JJ said to Pierre, then walked over to where Otabek was standing, lifted the lid on the blender, and made a face. "Yuck, did you put carrots in here?"

And just like that, the moment was over.

\-------------------------------------

Otabek had a room in the basement. He had brought (smuggled) some of his DJing equipment to the Leroy's from Kazakhstan. The first night he snuck out, three days after arrival and already sore and tired from the physical and mental strain of the new training season in a new environment, JJ spooked him in the kitchen, drinking a glass of milk at 11:30 p.m., fridge light suddenly coming on. Otabek hadn't been carrying anything. He was just going to scope out the scene.

Luckily JJ had stayed behind. If there was one person who had control of JJ - well, if there were any people - it was his coach (who was now Otabek's as well) and his parents, the legendary ice dancers, especially Nathalie, choreographer. Alain was like a coach to his son as well, off-ice. Somehow they still had lots of time to devote to their skating son, even though they also had a volleyball son, a violinist son, a dance-and-hockey daughter, a . . . well, there were too many, because Otabek couldn't remember them all. At any rate, JJ had stayed, because,  _íf they find out I'm dead!_ but also -  _where are you going? c'mon you can tell me!_

Otabek refused, and the next time it was even harder to make JJ stay put. So the time after that, when Otabek found someone who had a shitty bike for him, he let JJ come along. Actually, JJ woke him up. In his room in the middle of the night. Shaking him.  _"Come on Beks, wake up, let's go!"_ \- even though he had no idea where they were going and frankly Otabek was hoping JJ would sleep through it all. Anyways, Otabek had woken up and instinctually tackled JJ and they'd  _almost_ woken up the twins, but not quite.

Otabek decided not to let JJ come with him when he got a first gig. It wasn't much, but he didn't want to make a bad impression. JJ was loud. JJ was always, what is the word, exuberant. He was headstrong, no matter if he was arguing with his parents or doing as told. And he seemed to not really know too much about worlds outside the Catholic family in the quiet Quebec city, outside of skating and some bands he liked. Maybe that's why he was so damn  _good._ Even at 16. His lutz was coming along as easily as difference-of-squares. (Otabek had to study online. Lots of the Leroy kids did.) Otabek was supposed to be here to get good. As good as JJ? Maybe that was the point.

Anyways, JJ followed him to the second gig. Otabek had to mutter, " _he's with me._ " He tried to keep JJ quiet behind the decks with him but JJ was starry-eyed, wide-mouthed at the backwoods muisc festival. JJ happily tried a beer and spit it out like it was medicine and Otabek had laughed at him and JJ had laughed too. That's what Otabek remembered. Of course, they were tired the next day. On the ice, free legs floppy and crossovers sloppy, they looked at each other like they shared a secret as the coach grew frustrated. In the dressing rooms Otabek thought he saw some stars left over in JJ's eyes, for him.

So it was just a matter of time before JJ cut his hair.

It had been the typical sort of grown out fauxhawk thing, not long or short enough to really look like anything. But now JJ's blue eyes seemed sharper for some reason, his expressions more grown-up.

At practice, Nathalie was absent, but the coach made only a short comment. Otabek tried his quad sal and flopped it, for the  _n_ th time, really, he had never got it, never landed it clean even from the easiest of entries. JJ complained about not getting to jump anything except the quad toe and flip but the coach drew a hard line.

It was clear JJ had done the chop himself. It was a bit spotty in the back. In the dressing room after practice, Otabek waited a minute for JJ to finish showering.

"It looks bad in the back," he told JJ, freshly dressed in red sweats and a grey tank top.

JJ, head taller, looked down at him, suddenly concerned. "Oh well I was gonna get it cut better anyways-" he started bluffing, so Otabek cut him off,

"Let me cut it better before your parents see."

JJ eagerly agreed so they put themselves in the downstairs bathroom and JJ locked the door and handed the razor to Otabek.

 

\-------------------------------------

 

At least when Nathalie came back in and caught a fright upon seeing her son, it wasn't because it was a  _bad_ looking cut, per se.

JJ got a talking-to at the dinner table nevertheless. Otabek had eaten and was clearing the dishwasher along with . . . this one, her name is Nicole, he's sure. Pretty sure.

"You can't go copying Otabek's style," Nathalie said to her son.

JJ pulled a face. "Well I'm tired of being boring. Coach Lavallie won't even teach me the quad sal but my flip is basically perfect."

Spoons clanked in bowls; split pea soup (Otabek didn't really like it) for supper.

Some intermission from other children at the table occurred before JJ interrupted by blurting,

"So what if I have my own style?!"

"JJ style," Otabek muttered cynically from half-inside a cupboard, trying to remember which pots went where, but somehow JJ heard him.

"Yeah, JJ style!" JJ jumped up and started whirling through his step sequence on land. "And JJ style means there will be a quad sal right  _here_ in the program!"

"Help with the dishes if you're done," his father said, calmly like he was used to these antics.

 

\-------------------------------------

 

"Do you like it?" JJ blurted to Otabek in the middle of the dressing room where Otabek was cleaning off his skates, freshly showered and in jeans with his intended shirt beside him. It still smelled a little bit like home. Not for too much longer.

He had felt JJ's eyes on his back for more than enough time now. Otabek got the feeling that JJ would start watching him sometimes. In the middle of practice. The coach would shout at him to get his attention back. JJ was increasingly belligerent, trying to get his new philosophy of doing things  _his_ way across without any success at all.

Anyways, in the dressing room too. Or while Otabek was making breakfast in the mornings. Or when JJ was coming back from a run and Otabek was checking his homework or when Otabek was unpacking his stuff from the gym at the laundry machine and JJ was folding clean clothes. Even when the younger siblings were swarming around and making noise and blaming things on each other, Otabek caught JJ standing and looking at him. Like now.

"Like what?" Otabek said, half-turning. JJ was standing there in an oversized color blocked hoodie. It reminded him of JJ's ski jacket. JJ had gone skiing the past two weekend with Pierre and their friends but Otabek preferred to stay back and work on some new tracks.

"My hair. I mean," and JJ scratched his head.

"Yeah, it's good," Otabek said, going back to his skates.

"Oh, good," JJ said and Otabek could feel him abruptly turn and leave.

 

\-------------------------------------

 

Now it was Otabek's turn to watch JJ. Otabek went to play at someone's party on Sunday night. JJ had a volunteer commitment after church but he had been raring to go. He managed to get him and Otabek out of the family activity that had been planned. Otabek, at least, was grateful for that.

They walked to where Otabek's shitty bike was stashed (that JJ thought was  _oh so cool_ ) and they rode to the venue. Otabek had stashed his equipment there before, on the way back from the rink. JJ somehow managed to talk most of the time, into the wind, and Otabek couldn't catch a single word. He didn't mind. JJ didn't mind, apparently, either.

There were lots of people JJ knew at most of Otabek's gigs, somehow. From watching his facial expressions, his mannerisms, Otabek could tell he would tell them to not tell. No one would. People seemed to like him. He never had a drink. He might hold one. Otabek watched all this while playing the soundtrack of the night. He watched JJ with this one dark-haired Asian girl. He remembered seeing her in the ski trip party. They looked like they were good friends.

Otabek asked JJ if they were an item. JJ just said he liked her. He said he thought his parents would approve. He didn't say anything else. He just asked Otabek when he was playing next, and if  _he_ liked anyone, and Otabek said no, and JJ started telling a story that lasted the whole time Otabek packed up, talking as much with his hands as with his voice. Strangely, Otabek paused his activities to listen. Strangely, he laughed.

At the dinner table on Monday evening, JJ cleared his throat and told his parents he was thinking of going out with the dark haired girl from the recent party and the ski event. Presumably, JJ knew her From Before. Then ensued some boring discussion about her and what church she went to and her parents. Nathalie nodded. " _Oh yes, her mother sometimes takes shifts at the downtown PCN._ " And that was that. JJ smiled. His siblings teased him and then the conversation quickly went off on a tangent as it usually did at meal times. Then it was time to clear the table and drive what's-her-name to hockey and for Pierre to take Mathieu to swimming or something.

JJ danced around the kitchen, terribly inefficient at washing dishes, taking a break every other spoon and spatula to text something to Isabella (that was her name). Otabek left to go downstairs and call his parents, like usual around this time. Something irritated him about JJ and he didn't want to be around him right now. Maybe he could befriend another sibling better; but he was around JJ most of the time, working out, at the rink, closest in age; JJ would be his competition; so he was stuck with the boy who had cut his hair to match.

 

\-------------------------------------

 

JJ took Isabella out two times in the next week; once, to a new burger place. Once, JJ invited Otabek along; it was a group thing with other people he knew. "You could meet someone, Beks," JJ joked. (It was a joke. It was a joke?) Otabek agreed to try and make his newfound annoyance with JJ go away. He did  _want_ to be friends. He didn't exactly know why, now, JJ was starting to grate on his nerves. He didn't tell JJ about the gig in a week and a half because he didn't think he wanted JJ-and-Isabella there.

But Otabek ended up making polite conversation with some people who actually went out of their way to try to include him in the group, and otherwise, found himself watching JJ. And Isabella. She talked with him too. She thought he was cool too, Otabek surmised. He didn't care if she did or not. Did he care if JJ did?

 

\-------------------------------------

 

JJ still watched him during practice. JJ still watched him in the dressing room while he had his back turned and was drying his hair or straightening his jacket. Otabek knew this because he could feel it, but he never acknowledged it. JJ still fought the coach and generally nailed his program elements and Otabek still fought for flexibility and the sparkle of talent he would need to  _beat JJ in competition._

One evening, Otabek had finished cleaning up and was going to leave but JJ hadn't even gotten into the shower.

Heading back out to the rink, it was Otabek's turn to watch, again.

Afterhours, everyone gone, JJ was . . . trying to land a quad sal. He looked very close for someone who hadn't been taught explicitly how to do it.

Otabek watched. Too bad Isabella wasn't here, he found himself thinking in a sour sort of contentment. JJ was the only one on the ice, with every sound of his blades landing or scraping or touching down short of full rotation sharp and reaching to Otabek's ears. But JJ was in his own world. He didn't notice the lone bystander; his face was both frustrated and determined.

Otabek kept watching. It was suspenseful. JJ went down on his ass three, four, five . . . eight, nine times, he stepped out of it countless times, didn't even make it up in the air with a botched entry; he kept going. Otabek kept watching. He knew he should go, but he didn't. Why did JJ get to be tall and lean and good at skating and naturally in the perfect environment to cultivate his skill? But, here he was, afterhours, fighting the coach's direction.

It was a good fifteen minutes and Otabek was still standing there when he counted four rotations and JJ's blade landed back down, a touch of wobble, hand brushed the ice as he came out of it and lost balance and almost fell but he yelled,  _"YES!_ ", and Otabek must've too because JJ leapt up to his feet and looked at Otabek like a deer in the headlights.

Otabek cleared his throat. "Good job," he said.

JJ rushed to the edge of the ice and banged in through the door in the boards and leapt on Otabek, practically, with a hug.

"I did it!" JJ crowed. "I'll show them! I'll show them!"

Otabek pushed JJ off after a second of shock. "You don't need to get so excited," he told JJ, but his own heart was pounding.

"I'll show them!" was all JJ said as he plopped down to unlace his skates. "Yeah, I can do it my way!"

Bundled in the covers in the (frigid, sometimes) basement, Otabek thought of when he shaved JJ's head and ran his fingers over the fresh cut, with JJ sitting on the stool in front of him and grinning in the mirror. And then, he thought about JJ's quad sal, and how happy he was, and wrapping his arms around Otabek and almost knocking them over.

But then he thought about JJ and Isabella both going to some kind of SPCA volunteer day tomorrow, and he tried to fall asleep as fast as he could.

 

\-------------------------------------

 

This was how it was going to be. Otabek was going to try, and improve, and JJ was going to try, and improve, and fight his coach, and do jumps he wasn't supposed to, and take Isabella out. And Otabek was going to call home and tell them he was doing well, and the Leroys were treating him well (which they were; he had adjusted to the general mayhem by now), and he was going to go to gigs and out biking on his shitty bike and maybe not invite JJ along. And Otabek would watch JJ sometimes, and JJ would watch Otabek. And they wouldn't talk about it, because it was too weird. This was how it was going to be for the training season.

That's what Otabek concluded on a Sunday evening, a month away from the first competition.

Then on Monday evening, Otabek had thrown jeans on and wiped his hair back and bundled his gear back in his bag, T-shirt in hand, and he  _had_ to turn around because JJ was staring at him, again, but this time, it looked like he was going to say something. In fact, Otabek was supposed to say something.

Earlier they had gone out to Marble Slab for ice cream (even though they weren't  _supposed_ to, really, both JJ and Otabek had to restrain theselves and get only a small scoop) with the usual friend group, and Isabella. Isabella and JJ held hands sometimes. It wasn't like they were even a couple. They didn't even kiss, not that Otabek had seen. Not that he cared, or did he? But JJ held Isabella's hand and looked at Otabek. He talked to Otabek and his hand was on Isabella's and she was talking to someone beside her. JJ leaned over to look at Otabek's ice cream.  _Why didn't you put more things on it?_ he asked. His own serving was 10% ice cream and 90% toppings.  _What flavour did you get?_ He was really close. There was some portion of sunlight in through the window that made his blue eyes look almost as bright as the ice, or his skates on the ice. Otabek hadn't answered.

There was something about that moment.

Otabek combed through everything. He came up with the answer. They had watched each other. At the same time. For the first time. While JJ's hand was in Isabella's but he was leaning over Otabek and his ice cream and Otabek was leaning to him at the counter and they weren't saying anything anymore.

So Otabek was definitely supposed to say something now.

"Do you really like Isabella?" he asked JJ in the dressing room.

He had done well. That was the right question. JJ's expression said it all.

"I like lots of things," JJ said. But he didn't look happy, just a bit confused.

He was standing on the other side of the low bench in between the locker rows, and he reached out to put his hand in Otabek's. Not far. It was just casual. JJ looked down at this contact, which Otabek's brain was immediately sorting with the haircut and the hug.

Then, Otabek's brain wasn't quite fast enough for the rest of him and he clasped his fingers in between JJ's and JJ, suddenly, with this confirmation, like some sort of chain had come off him, turned his hand and ran it up Otabek's bare arm up to his shoulder, gaze following it all the way, looking like he was afraid to breathe.

Otabek tried to catch his brain for a second, but didn't manage to, his heart jumping up in his chest and he pulled JJ over the little bench, close to him and before he knew it their lips were together, a little hard and a little awkward at first, but it didn't matter, it was the action and not the detail of it.

Shortly JJ pulled his face away just inches from Otabek's so he could still feel him breathing, unsteady, touch still too light, still standing close, body heat to body heat against the lockers.

Otabek didn't know what to do, until JJ's phone on the bench started buzzing.

Abruptly it was over and JJ picked it up, managing to stutter out some kind of  _hello_ with his eyes down, dark lashes, not looking at Otabek. Otabek swung his bag on his shoulder busily and then realized he needed his shirt on first and he was doing it all out of order. JJ started talking in French; probably his mother.

"I have to go pick up Karolina, um, . . . yeah, so," JJ said upon hanging up and Otabek said, his shirt on and bag over shoulder, successfully now,

"OK, I'll see you at home," and they left separately.

When they got back to the house, Otabek did his schoolwork. JJ had chores and then he also had schoolwork. Siblings filtered in. Then parents. Suppertime. Cleanup. 

They weren't watching each another anymore. They were trying not to. This, Otabek could feel. 


	2. Chapter 2

Otabek determined with half a mind to ignore what had happened until he could figure out what to do.

He went on a later run than usual the next morning, to counteract JJ's early morning run, so he was in the shower while JJ was eating breakfast. Then it was only a matter of going to the rink and practicing, and they usually didn't interact much during practice anyways; but the gym would be unavoidable, most likely. Otabek was stretching rinkside while JJ was arguing with his coach, yet again. It got heated and Otabek tried to not look like he was watching, while watching more; two other skaters walking in gave their attention to the scene as well. It all escalated when JJ strode defiantly into the middle of his program with confident sweeps of his skate blades on the ice and built up speed and went straight into the quad sal.

For some reason Otabek had to hide a grin on the echoing outburst of JJ's coach that immediately followed.

Then he had to follow the frames of JJ's ass and shoulders and line of his body and everything-else, follow the images in his mind, the archive left. He had to keep stealing glances while stretching out his hamstrings.

Otabek wasn't dumb. He'd put two and two together, for himself. Why he felt annoyed at JJ-and-Isabella? Why he'd wanted JJ to kiss him? Why he'd let JJ kiss him? He'd been eyeing JJ and storing all these impressions and half-written thoughts and feelings ever since he'd gotten to Canada, and there was enough now to conclude that he had a thing for JJ. Was it  _whatever_? Like the girl with the inverse-braids in, what was it, 9th grade? Like the boy with the really blonde hair in . . . must have been 7th grade?

Guess Otabek would have to find out; but he had to figure  _how_ to find out.

In due time, they each had their workout bags and they were heading to the gym side-by-side. Unavoidable.

Otabek made conversation by way of JJ's quad sal.  _Nice. Your coach didn't like it?_

The replies were short and their gazes fell off of each other; trying not to watch,  _trying not to watch._ Maybe JJ was trying to figure out what to do as well. His parents were Catholics. JJ was too, by extension. Otabek didn't know how they would feel about . . . any of this.

And of course, Isabella.

They spotted each other when necessary. Working out was enough of a reason to not talk.

But then Otabek was showering, and sitting on a bench in the locker room. He heard JJ finish showering and come out and sit on the bench opposite, so they were both facing away from each other. This was where  _yesterday_ had happened, of course, and it would be absolutely stupid to leave while ignoring the whole thing.

"JJ," Otabek managed to start, "Can . . . " and JJ turned around, putting his phone down on the bench with a slap (maybe he was just texting Isabella, and probably, he had been), and JJ looked at him with wide blue eyes that seemed almost afraid of what Otabek was going to say. What  _was_ Otabek going to say? "Can you, uh," he managed. JJ clasped his hands and put them between his knees. He was wearing fresh black shiny track pants and a white T-shirt. He looked really good; the thought Otabek could tally up with duplicates of the same that had been gathering ever since. His lips were slightly parted and Otabek wanted to repeat yesterday.

"No one knows," JJ blurted all of a sudden.

"Right," Otabek said. He was standing now, somehow. He was still looking at JJ. Everything seemed too warm all of a sudden, and not the sort of warm that's from bench presses and hammer curls.

"But – " JJ glanced at his phone, to the side. "It's OK because Bella and I –" He looked back at Otabek, almost with some sort of apology or guilt or something, too fast to tell – "—We just, I dunno, we're just going out because it's like—"

"I don't care," Otabek interrupted him, and now he was standing in front of him with his hands going to either side of his head and running up through the base scruff and loose damp waves on top, JJ sitting, Otabek standing. JJ was staring at him with his lips red and waiting to be kissed but Otabek still didn't want to do anything he wasn't welcome to.

"Can I what?" JJ said, blurting again. Otabek's hands stopped moving through his hair.

"What?"

"You said,  _Can you,_ but you didn't finish."

Otabek frowned. "Can you teach me the quad sal," he said.

It hung in the air too long to be taken at face value, that question.

When JJ said yes, it was in a breath, with his hands sliding up and under Otabek's tank top and on his skin, around his back and Otabek was gripping him back and JJ stood up and their lips met in the middle.

This time, JJ's phone didn't ring, and all Otabek could hear was the beat of his own heart in his ears and the breaths between everything they touched between them. Somehow they were back against the lockers, smooth end side and still kissing and pushing against each other; touching, JJ had one hand low on Otabek's hips slipping under his waistband and Otabek was grabbing at his ass.

There was nothing to stop them; Otabek moved his mouth to kiss down JJ's neck and rock his body against JJ's as JJ pushed them close with a low breath or moan.

A ripple of tension Otabek felt under JJ's skin as everything drew too close, as everything peaked too fast – now it wasn't going to be a phone interrupting them, but something else – Otabek stayed as JJ pulled away suddenly, and his heart would've cut loose from where it was held in his chest right then and there if it had been because  _JJ didn't want to_ –

But it was the sound of someone else in the showers. Otabek hadn't noticed. He felt himself blushing. JJ was red too.

"We should go," JJ said.

They packed up quickly. Otabek adjusted his bag close to his body, not failing to notice JJ did the same.

"Walk home?" Otabek asked. JJ nodded.

Once they were out on the street, and a block away from the rink, no one else on the sidewalk as cars passed, JJ said,

"I like you."

They walked three more steps. Poplars blocked them in intermittent shade.

"Yeah. OK. So," Otabek said. It wasn't rude. It was probably the question they were both asking themselves. But Otabek felt like they'd do better asking each other.

He watched JJ's face as it scrunched up and his eyes looked at the sidewalk for some moments as they kept walking.

"I wouldn't do anything with Isabella," JJ said decisively after a bit.

"I said I don't care."

"She thinks you're cool."

"I don't care."

"Don't tell my parents."

"That I don't care?"

"No," JJ said, looking at him, making it clear what he was referring to.

"OK," Otabek agreed.

They still had several blocks to go. They walked in silence, waiting at crosswalks in silence.

"You wouldn't do anything with Isabella?" Otabek repeated when they had about 4 blocks to go.

"No," JJ confirmed. "I mean—well – I like her. But I like you. I like you – different, because I don't want to do anything with her but – "

Otabek shushed him. "I like you too."

The look on JJ's face was worth whatever he'd be giving to keep it there.

(That's what he thought, then.)


	3. Chapter 3

 

_Don’t tell my parents._

JJ doesn’t have to say it again.

They meet in the locker room again, though. Nathalie is only at practice sometimes, and she’ll usually not wait around for the boys to clean themselves up. They pick the dressing room in the corner and stand at the side in case someone should wonder at two pairs of feet under the off-white curtain drawn closed.

When someone else walked into the locker area the first time, JJ broke their lips apart with a wild look in his eyes, a silent laugh, and Otabek pressed them into the very corner of the room, intent on staying hidden, but it was a nice way of staying hidden.

When the someone else walked out they continued. Continued with what? Well, it was awkward as _fuck_ sometimes, but it was always really good, and anyways, you couldn’t really get better without pushing through the awkward first. Better at what? Well, being closer, being together, it’s as far as Otabek has ever gone and definitely, then, as far as JJ has ever gone, and you can hear from breaths and see from how their hands move it is an urgent matter to go farther every time. But they don’t have _much_ time, before they have to get back, before they _can_ get back without having to explain themselves. It is probably better that way, Otabek knows faintly somewhere in the back of his head.

And all JJ does the next time they all go out, JJ’s friends and Otabek and a couple of JJ’s siblings and their friends and Isabella, all JJ does: all he does is hold Isabella’s hand. Otabek watches. Otabek almost counts the words JJ says to her or Otabek himself. To compare. He scrutinizes every time JJ looks her way. He is pleased to find nothing of the JJ he’s discovered, uncovered, when he’s had him to himself, in those looks. It’s just _JJ-_ style-JJ. They all go down to the creek where there’s a boring fair at the _weird-word-he-can’t-pronounce_ pavilion, and shitty live indie music, but at least it’s something to do and _all JJ does is hold Isabella’s hand._

Ha!

When Otabek is lying in bed by himself and looking at the ceiling to make his eyelids heavy, he’ll mouth the syllables of her name, _Is-ah-bell-ah,_ a little scornfully. He’ll remember JJ’s hands on him and grin. Then, he’ll roll over and go to sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

Wednesday Otabek is busy thinking about the third gig he’s picked up, which is happening tonight. JJ is coming with him, but Otabek isn’t telling him until after supper, so he won’t get too excited and arouse any suspicions. They’d sneak out at like, oh, 10:30. They have snuck out a good half-dozen times by now, but it’s usually to parties, not a gig, not since those very first two.

At supper, though, Alain clears his throat and brings the throng of offspring + their Kazakh boarder to attention.

“I’m sure you all remember your second cousin Lacy, Uncle Dan and Aunt Reina’s daughter.”

Bursts of conversation from all assembled spring from that single, rather bland statement and Otabek waits until Alain starts again, seeming a bit more serious this time, so everyone quiets down a little faster than normal.

“She’s got an internship with a company in town . . . Falcon Homes I think it is . . . “

“Yes, that’s what Reina told me,” Nathalie agrees.

“ . . . and she needs a place to stay.”

“We already have _TOO MANY PEOPLE!_ ” one of the young ones, maybe 7, starts shouting immediately, and of course everyone follows: _not MY ROOM!, who is she, I JUST TOLD YOU!, what’s for dessert?, not OUR ROOM!_

“My room’s probably the best, she can have my room,” JJ shouts above everyone else after Otabek sees him share a look with Pierre. Otabek guesses that means JJ must defer to the older brother. The older twins, girls, oh, Marie and someone, who are something like 19 years old, Otabek sees are just texting on their phones under the table after having declared they will not accept a foreigner into their territory.

“Well, that’s fine, but where will you sleep? At the rink?” Alain half-jokes to JJ.

“Pierre could move his room around,” Nathalie says, then switches to French for rapid-fire discussion, and Pierre joins in, in an arguing fashion, and JJ tries to slide two words in edgewise: Alex, who Otabek is pretty sure is 10, is getting up and trying to sneak around the island for the chocolate cake cooling on the edge of the counter, and one of the quieter young girls, Nicole, is starting to clear her dish. Otabek actually enjoys watching the mayhem occur, now that he’s used to it.

The train of French abruptly stops when Pierre can be heard saying, “Otabek’s room is the biggest, downstairs.”

Otabek looks up from his quiet observatory corner at the dinner table and the head of the Leroy family is looking at him as if for his opinion. Really, Otabek barely talks at the dinner table, so this is quite on-the-spot for him, and half the crowd has stopped their blabbering to look at him.

“It is not our place to say that he should share with JJ,” Alain begins to fill the silence, back to Pierre. But Otabek is already glancing at JJ – not too long – here’s his decision, it’s an easy one. Otabek shrugs good-naturedly to Pierre, Alain, Nathalie.

“It is fine, I don’t mind. We basically live together at the rink anyway,” he says.

Alain laughs, _isn’t that true?,_ and Nathalie prompts Otabek, _are you sure? You really do not have to. At all. We can always find something else!_

But, after the table is cleared, dessert is had, and the table is cleared a final time, and all the dishes are done and kids are whisked off to evening activities left and right – Otabek finds himself on the other side of JJ’s dresser as they move it down the stairs, and they’re both trying to wipe the grins off their faces, because nothing, really, could have been more perfectly timed than this.

 

* * *

 

 

They’re both too tired after Wednesday night (well, more like Thursday morning when they get back) to do anything other than flop into their beds, the room very precisely divided in half, all JJ’s stuff on one side and Otabek’s on the other, only exception being the closet; however, that space is also cleanly segregated.

“I’m gonna suckkk at the rink tomorrow,” is all JJ says before he’s, apparently, sound asleep, caterpillared up in his covers.

Otabek’s shoving his workstation under the bed and then he, too, is too exhausted to think any more.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

But the next evening is a different story. Lacy comes and meets everyone who is home at the time. Otabek is polite. JJ texts Isabella after supper, then he and Otabek go biking, and do homework. Lacy’s all settled in and talking sociably with Alain and Nathalie about family things. The clock creeps closer to bedtime.

JJ goes through routine, which is a kiss to both his parents and murmured goodnights in French, and Otabek says goodnight as well.

JJ flosses and brushes. Otabek brushes and looks at memes. He’s finished brushing in a minute while JJ’s still scrubbing his teeth vehemently.

“I’m changing,” Otabek says, but heads from the bathroom to their room and leaves the door open while he finds a pair of sleep pants. It’s early summer, so no need for warmth.

“Why don’t you floss?! Do you ever floss?! Did you ever have braces?” JJ says as he returns from his teeth-cleaning quest; Otabek’s putting his laptop on the desk and plugging it in to charge.

“Who needs floss? No, I don’t need braces,” Otabek answers.

“Well you’re lucky then ‘cause I had them two years ago, and I had to wear these elastics too, that went on your top AND bottom teeth, and when you went to the dentist they would give you tighter and tighter ones. My jaw hurt forever and probably the only thing good about it was I could convince Maman to let me get ice cream sometimes.” Long narratives like this are the norm in JJ’s speech pattern. Otabek used to think it was annoying or at least weird; it’s still weird, but it’s sort of endearing. During the barrage of words there is some other kind of noise behind Otabek’s back, where he’s struggling to get the charger pushed into the wall, and now he turns around.

Apparently, JJ has pushed his bed over to Otabek’s, so they’re side-by-side, leaving the room very unbalanced.

Otabek looks critically at the arrangement, immediately drawing a defensive, indignant look from JJ.

“What?! I thought we would just – you know – don’t fool me, I saw the look you gave me at dinner – “

“Even with the door closed, so no one comes in, if your parents are knocking to wake us up, then we have to move the bed back,” Otabek explains.

“Oh,” JJ says, scrunching his face up in a thinking manner. “Yeah that would be too noisy. We would have to do that every morning. Definitely Adele would hear for sure.”

JJ pushes the bed back and Otabek lazily watches.

“We can both fit on mine,” Otabek says when JJ rejoins him.

JJ looks at it.

“Sure,” he says happily and he grabs his pillow from across the room, slam dunks it on Otabek’s bed beside Otabek’s pillow, and they crawl in together, with the doors already closed. There are butterflies racing around in Otabek’s stomach for no other reason at all than _this_. They negotiate moving over – _are your feet hanging off? Do you want more cover?_ – in the end JJ takes more cover – and then everything’s good, Otabek reaches up to turn the lights off then settles back down.

For some reason they’re lying face-to-face. Maybe there’s something more to be said.

JJ says it, scooting his face a couple inches closer, for a kiss, and for this and the feel of their bodies so close like this, uninterrupted, stepping towards permanence every time – for this, the butterflies in Otabek’s stomach don’t settle down even in the slightest.

As they keep kissing and roll over a bit, JJ half on top of Otabek, legs tangled with the covers and Otabek’s hands wrapping around and under JJ’s thin white shirt, he can just glimpse JJ’s phone light up across the room with some new message, probably from Isabella. But one of JJ’s hands is pressed on Otabek’s bare chest and the other supports him on the bed, Otabek’s arm over top, and he’ll only break the kiss to begin it again.

Nothing’s more satisfying than JJ’s complete inattention to anyone else in the world right now.

 

* * *

 

 

On the way back from practice a couple of weeks later, JJ seems to be chewing on something inside his mouth, words that won’t come out, but it’s JJ, so Otabek doesn’t have to wait long before he says something.

“No one knows, still,” he says.

Otabek nods. It’s become second-nature for them and it’s getting a little easier every day to forget that it’s still a secret; they’ll walk out the sliding doors of the rink holding hands subconsciously and then JJ, it’s usually JJ that remembers first, will jerk their grip apart.

“But I’m still like, technically dating Bella,” JJ continues.

Otabek nods with a snort.

“Aaaaaaare you sure . . . like, uh, does it bother you?”

“I said I don’t care,” Otabek says. He doesn’t care. Not critically, at least. It annoys him that JJ’s so good at texting her and going out with her and, hell, _holding hands with her_ when they can’t even. But it’s not critical.

“It just makes my parents feel better,” JJ sighs.

“Sure it doesn’t make _you_ feel better?” Otabek says before he can really stop himself.

“What?” JJ looks at him, wide blue eyes. “What do you mean?”

Otabek shrugs. “Are you ever going to tell your parents?”

“I can’t,” JJ frowns.

“You live in Canada,” Otabek tells him. “Things about being gay is old news. It’s not like where I live. And my parents are ok with it. So, then it should be even better for you.”

“I _can’t_ ,” JJ huffs. “You don’t know my family like I do.”

“Come on, they have so many kids, what does one being gay do?” Otabek tries to joke, but JJ’s in no joking mood now, from the way he chews his lip and looks down as they walk.

“You don’t know. You know we were all baptized, we go to Mass every Sunday, but my parents really stick to that, they really . . . you know, we had a student stay with us and we got really close, my whole family and him, and we kept in contact when he moved away but then he came out on Facebook and Maman was actually _worried_ about him like, she – she,” and JJ’s tone rises in frustration, “see we video called him all the time and now she would tell him that she was praying for him to like, well she didn’t _say_ it, but like, _not be gay_ and after we got off the call she would shake her head and – well she actually believes it, it’s not just like _oh the rule is you can’t be gay_ to her, no she actually thinks it’s bad to be gay, it ruins you, it’s –”

JJ’s getting agitated so Otabek stops him and shushes him. “I get it,” Otabek says. “But, if it is her real son, she might be different. And there’s your dad.”

Otabek watches JJ breathe slower, focusing. JJ does this sometimes. Usually it’s a bad day at practice. He gets agitated and then he has a protocol for himself to calm back down. Otabek thinks it’s pretty smart to do that.

“Well, my dad is the same,” JJ says as they resume walking.

Otabek can believe that. Alain is jovial 85% of the time, but the other 15%, he’s a storm cloud so dead serious you better sit down and agree with him.

“I know it’s hard,” Otabek says after a time, “but sometimes you have to be serious about something.”

To which JJ says, quietly, “I _am_ serious. But you’re just here for one season.”

“But I can come back,” Otabek says quickly.

JJ’s looking at the sidewalk, swallowing.

“I can’t tell them,” he says, and his voice is very small.

 

* * *

 

 

That weekend, there’s some kind of LGBTQ event at the local college: a kid-friendly fair, forum with speakers, drag performance the next evening, that sort of thing. The forum happens Saturday afternoon. All this Otabek finds out at Sunday dinner table. It’s a smaller crowd; two children are away at someone’s house for a sleepover, and Pierre is out helping someone move.

“The issue is that I know many people we know went, like Jocelyn and Alan?” Nathalie is saying: it’s mostly her, Alain, JJ and the older children talking. “But some went to support it! That’s giving the completely wrong idea!” She sighs and takes another bite of the sweet-and-sour meatballs she made tonight (they are quite delicious and Otabek asks Alex to pass the bowl for seconds).

“Hmmm,” Alain says agreeably in his throat. So far JJ has contributed to the conversation with details about the event but now he’s fallen silent. There is a strange interlude of no voices, straining the topic at hand.

“I think Charlie’s going to the event tonight,” JJ speaks back up, filling the gap in conversation.

“Oh, Charlie?” Nathalie’s eyebrows rise. She shakes her head. “I don’t know why anyone would go to such a thing.”

“Well, it’s probably funny,” JJ offers.

That’s the end of that conversation.

And then behind closed bedroom doors, JJ and Otabek are in the dark together again.

Sometimes they just talk for a bit and sleep, nothing more. This time JJ says,

“I hope I’m still a Catholic. Maybe I’m not a very good one.”

He sounds a little sad and definitely unsure.

“Why would you care?” Otabek says, then regrets it. Maybe a bit too insensitive. But JJ doesn’t take it the wrong way.

“Well, I guess I believe it too, maybe not all of it, but I still want to . . . you know,” he sighs. The sheets shift.

Otabek can’t identify with that.  In his world, nothing conflicts. He wants to skate, he wants to DJ and maybe get into producing someday, and he wants JJ. In theory, he can have it all. Why can’t he have it all, indeed?

“You can tell your parents, and ask them,” Otabek says.

“Makes sense,” JJ says tiredly, not so much sleepily as tiredly. It’s as if he said _no, I can’t,_ because that’s what Otabek hears all the same.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Otabek’s quad sal is consistent enough for competition now, thanks to JJ. JJ’s consistent enough for competition, and has been for a while, Otabek knows from watching him. As a competitor, it sucks. But as who they are to each other right now, it’s great. There’s envy, and admiration, and fuel to work harder.

Seconds to minutes to hours to days to weeks, and Otabek enjoys life. He’s in a rhythm. Wake up, wake JJ up, breakfast, land exercises and gym, rink, gym, maybe some school, back to rink, school, whatever family activities, sleep, repeat.

All the in-betweens are filled. He doesn’t even tell his parents with what, when he video calls them, because the word could get around.

At the rate they were going, they should have been full out fucking each other by now. But it’s a little risky. JJ’s got to smother his noise into the pillow or Otabek’s skin at this stage; a bit further and careful guard could slip.

They went out to a party but it wasn’t the right context to go further.

And maybe it’s not just that. Maybe there’s a little hesitance. Even Otabek hasn’t . . . tried _that_ before, and well, JJ’s still dating Isabella.

Slowly JJ seems to notice how Otabek increasingly scrutinizes his every interaction with Isabella. Out at social gatherings or when Bella is over, after an exchange with her, JJ will come out of that – resurface? – and a look will pass between him and Otabek. JJ, maybe, knows he’s being watched, as before.

Otabek himself has to notice just how his jaw clenches and heart goes up in arms whenever JJ has to cover to his family, has to uphold Bella as his one-and-only.

One morning as Otabek’s woken up much too early and is just lying there with JJ slumbering peacefully tight pressed against him, he thinks that maybe time has proven him wrong. He didn’t care about Isabella, when everything started. He didn’t care if it was a secret.

Now . . . now he cares. Now they’re in deep enough, for long enough, Otabek doesn’t think he can stand or necessarily should stand Isabella and JJ still officially dating. He doesn’t think he can or should stand JJ holding a wall of secrecy between them and his family. It makes him feel like less, like _they’re_ less, and they’re not, are they?

Tension fills the walk home, the dressing room, the shared ice warmups, the study space, between Otabek and JJ, between conversation. Otabek knows JJ must know the issue. But Otabek can’t breach the topic himself. He might be too harsh: it might be too harsh, how he really feels. _Tell them, and take the consequences. We’ll get over it._ It can’t be that bad. Bad, yes, but not _that_ bad. They’re generally agreeable people, the Leroys. Still, the topic is too delicate for Otabek to take the first step on the thin ice.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“I’m gonna tell,” JJ spits out. It’s 7 p.m., and they’re supposed to be doing homework; the parents have gone out to a gala and the older twins are entertaining friends upstairs, with younger children watching TV/playing some horse-stables game in the playroom downstairs. The door to their room is shut while Otabek is digging through his stack of papers to find a sheet of math he needs to do the review assignment.

Otabek turns around at this announcement from JJ, who looks proud, standing straight and tall. But maybe a bit worried. “Not my parents first. I’ll run it – I’ll run it by Pierre.” JJ bites his lip with a hand stuffed in his pocket and in that moment, he looks more scared than Otabek’s ever seen him. “I mean, he wouldn’t, like, tell on me. . .“  His eyes twitch, blinking, looking like he’s fighting it: Otabek has noticed this tic happens when he gets worried.

“It sounds like a good plan,” Otabek says, standing, and his hand finds JJ’s.

JJ looks down at their palms together and fingers between each others’. Otabek wants to say _this means everything to me, this really does,_ but he can’t make the words.

“Yeah, OK, he’ll be home . . . um, before my parents.” JJ bangs out of the room. “Gotta go get ready!”

Otabek wonders at his sudden disappearance but just leaves him be, a hopeful nervousness flitting in his gut.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Otabek whiles away the night working on a track instead of doing any math, the sheet he managed to dig out sitting on top of the dresser, below JJ’s framed Wolverine #1-4 Marvel collection, beside an ugly mug that doesn’t even hold water (homemade present from a sibling or something). JJ might do the assignment for him later, by accident, since it’s sitting there. JJ is quite good at math, which is a little bit unfair, but it’s alright. Otabek’s better at writing, even, surprisingly, in English.

Otabek tries hard not to focus too much on listening to upstairs noises and turns off the lights, scrolling through his phone and waiting for JJ to return.

When he does, the door creaking open, slit of light, shutting again, Otabek sits up and slaps the lights back on.

“So?” he asks JJ.

JJ bites his lip. “I, uh, didn’t get to asking them . . . Pierre was late! And maybe there wasn’t enough time to talk to him first—”

“I heard the door open at least fifteen minutes before your parents got back,” Otabek says critically.

“Well it probably wasn’t enough time,” JJ crosses his arms.

“You could have just told your parents,” Otabek points out, heat rising to his cheeks, kicking the covers off his legs and swinging over the ledge of his bed.

“No! _No!_ I’ve said that a million times!”

“You’re just fucking _playing with me_ , aren’t you? I always guessed that!” Otabek shouts, knowing he’s lost control over himself, but it’s about time, standing up and marching over to JJ.

“I am _NOT_ playing with you I just know way more about my family and _MY LIFE_ than YOU do—”

“You’re just scared!” Otabek yells and JJ stops short. “You’re just _scared_ , aren’t you?! I knew it! You have all your JJ style, fancy programs and fancy jumps but no one knows the _real_ coward behind—”

After that, Otabek doesn’t remember exactly what nasty words are exchanged, only that they barely escape blows with each other; some things get knocked over, and they go to sleep in separate beds, exactly how they were supposed to from the start.

Loud voices from upstairs continue after their own spat has stalled to an acidic end, and Otabek hopes it has nothing to do with the downstairs two.

 

* * *

 

 

Otabek is woken up. The feeling is strange. It’s always the other way around.

“I’m sorry.”

It’s JJ, softly, in the dim morning light. Otabek clicks on his phone. 4:02 a.m. JJ’s warm, leaning over him.

“What?” Otabek half rolls over to face him.

“I chickened out. That’s all.” JJ blinks away when Otabek doesn’t say anything. His weight starts to lift from the mattress. But Otabek grabs him before he can leave.

“I have a gig tonight, remember? Do you still want to go?”

In the end, even if the secret never gets out, Otabek . . . Otabek can’t fool himself, in this instant he knows, he knows _for sure,_ he needs this, he’s weak for JJ, and it’ll have to just be like this. He doesn’t like it. But he can’t help it. The price of them, Otabek and JJ, _being,_ being together: it was pretending they weren’t, and thinking they might never really be. And Otabek is going to pay it.

 _Yeah, let’s go,_ Otabek expects JJ to say.

“I’m going to skip first bit of land training. Go without me. I’m going to catch Pierre at the shop. He has an office. No one will be around,” JJ says instead.

Otabek pushes himself up. He combs a hand back through his hair. The template JJ cut his own to match.

“Look, you . . . “ Otabek starts.

“No, I need to do this.” JJ swallows. “It’s not just for you or us, I guess it’s for me. I don’t think I could be happy . . . “ he trails off.

They sit there in the darkness. Otabek checks his phone again.

“Breakfast?” JJ says eventually, with a sigh.

Otabek hopes lighthearted, cheerful, funny JJ comes back soon.

“Yeah,” Otabek says, getting out of bed.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Go without me,” JJ repeats to Otabek for the last time as they head out on their usual way to the rink.

Otabek nods and they split paths.

 _But what if . . . what if something happens_ , Otabek thinks as he crosses 83rd avenue, the tree boughs spreading above. _What if JJ needs my help for something?_ Otabek can’t help but imagine a worst-case scenario. At the very least, maybe a main character in the story to be present.

So he follows along, but at a distance. He’s been to Pierre’s shop before, so he knows where it is.

Their land trainer is going to be mad today, but there are more important things to do.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Otabek watches from behind a brick area with plants along the road, pretending to be on his phone as JJ catches Pierre, coveralls and all, just outside the man door beside Bay #2. He can faintly hear their conversation when the breeze quiets.

“ . . . supposed to be at the rink?” from Pierre.

“Yeah but I wanted to ask you about something,” JJ says.

Otabek’s holding his breath.

“Oh, the noise last night?” Pierre interjects. “Yeah, didn’t you hear, Lacy’s getting evicted. Don’t tell the younger ones. They’ll make a big deal.”

“What?!” JJ exclaims.

“Maman and Papa found out that she’s been seeing a girl at Clavier High, it came through the grapevine from Marie and Claudia, and they stopped to drop off something and saw Lacy and this other girl . . . then they found out she had been coming over, just during . . . .” The breeze kicks up and Otabek can’t tell what Pierre is saying for a moment. “ . . . so this afternoon, there will be the room free for you again.”

Otabek swallows. So the Leroys evicted this cousin or whoever, that’s the news? That was the noise from upstairs? Suddenly, he doesn’t feel so confident in his assertation that it really can’t be _that_ bad.

“Oh, uh, I see,” JJ says in response to Pierre.

“Heard some noise from downstairs though,” Pierre says. “Is that what you came about? What’s he doing?”

“We just had a fight, but it’s OK now . . . “ JJ trails off.

“Ah, well you know I know you are sneaking out at night sometimes,” Pierre says. “Or at least Otabek is.” He snorts. “But just because I’m up late. I don’t think anyone else knows.”

“That’s not it either,” JJ says. This seems to have stumped Pierre in guessing what JJ has come to talk about and it’s silent for a moment. A bit of a breeze, then, “ . . . don’t really want it back.”

“Oh?”

“Otabek and I . . . like, uh, like each other,” JJ says.

Otabek thinks he might be more nervous for JJ than JJ is himself, his insides knotting up worryingly.

“Oh,” Pierre says. “Oh,” he says, in a different tone.

“Don’t tell!” JJ exclaims suddenly. “I . . . just wanted to ask if . . . you think if I told them they would . . . “

“Oh _man,_ ” Pierre interrupts, “You can’t tell them if you want to keep skating! No, no no! Man, you have a problem.”

JJ groans.

“Really though,” Pierre says, sounding interested. “You and Otabek? Is THAT why you cut your hair?”

Otabek can hear the grin in the voice alone.

“NoooooOOOooOOoOoOoO!” JJ says and there’s a short laugh from Pierre.

“Is THAT why you volunteered your room? Merci, mon cher frère! So self-sacrificing!” Pierre still laughs.

After they quiet down, JJ continues.

“So you don’t think . . . you don’t think Maman and Papa would . . .”

“Oh, Jean-Jacques, tellement naïf. They are going to send Otabek home right away if you tell. Then, you will get disciplined, or something like that, something’s got to be fixed with you, you know? That’s how they think. Anyways, even with no secret-telling, you are going back to your room. . . . you two, really? What have you been doing?”

“Nothing! . . . much,” JJ says.

“I’ll keep your secret if you want me to,” Pierre shrugs, as Otabek peeks through the bush.

“I don’t! I don’t want to hide it! I want to just be Bella’s friend and stop holding her hand and hold Otabek’s instead and have everything be nice in the family –”

“Well, you’re not getting that,” Pierre says with a cynical laugh. “It is too bad. Wait until you are 25 and have stopped draining the finances by figure skating. Then support yourself and go live by yourself and do what you want.”

“You’re one to talk, still living . . . “

A breeze kicks up and blocks Otabek’s hearing again.

His stomach is sour.

“ . . . you think?” JJ’s voice comes back.

“Oh, me? Why do you care? I think it is your business.” But the tone is warm, from Pierre.

“Thanks,” JJ says.

“Je ne piperai mot.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Otabek meets JJ on the way back. He admits he came for backup. JJ reddens but doesn’t mind. Onward with the day, they walk and train and dance and skate in a heavy sort of silence.

Ever so busy, JJ and Otabek barely have time to eat supper before heading out to their volunteer shift. They do attend, but leave early, running out to the alley behind the junior high school to grab Otabek’s trashy bike, carrying his equipment. Behind some birch and willow in the space they’ve parked his bike, evergreens spattered around the green area. It _is_ locked. No one’s touched it.

They stand over the bike after JJ’s undone the lock for Otabek, for a moment. The sadness in the air between them stirs unsurely.

Gently they move together. JJ says, “I’ll try and think about it more.” He still sounds distressed. “I can still tell them. If you want me to. But I think Pierre knows them well. They will send you home.”

“Then we don’t tell,” Otabek concludes, his mouth before his mind. Because he can’t leave this. He can’t leave this. He presses his lips to JJ’s, on his tiptoes, the one he wants to stay with, even if it’s like this, the shade from the trees hiding them from outside view.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Spirits are light when JJ and Otabek kick his crappy bike back into the grassy, treed area, much darker now, with the sun pretty much set. They laugh and lean on each other; one or two drinks each is the right amount. They walk back together; they _do_ have an excuse which should be reasonably watertight (a lesser-known group of JJ’s friends were apparently bowling tonight and if no one really checks the story, it could be easily assumed they were there as well and just had to take extra time to walk all the way back from the alley).

They get in the door, still talking, about patterned pants or something, and downstairs to their room and –

\-- Nathalie and Alain Leroy are standing just outside, talking seriously to each other.

Faces blanch. Masters of the house turn to residents.

Otabek glances in the room quickly; it looks like the initiative to move JJ’s stuff back up has been taken, and now Alain has an empty beer bottle Otabek forgot about in one hand, with some club flyers gathered in the other.

_Oh no._

Alain is clearly in the 15% storm cloud mood, and Nathalie looks like she’s ready to cut someone in the most effective way she can, which is definitely verbally.

JJ opens his mouth and starts to defend Otabek. Otabek opens his mouth and starts to defend JJ. But Alain silences them with a soft yet thunderous declaration:

“This is both your faults.”

“How long have you been doing this?” Nathalie cuts in.

Otabek swallows. “Not very often,” he says.

“ _What_ were you doing?” Alain says.

Otabek and JJ look at each other.

“We went months ago,” JJ says. “But not often! And we were always safe! Lots of people we know went out too! And –”

“ _What._ Were you doing?” Alain repeats.

Eventually, the story comes out in bits and pieces. Parties. Where? In, you know, people’s houses. Basements. Yes, this is why they were sometimes very sloppy on ice. Yes, there was alcohol. No! There were no drugs! Well, at least they weren’t using them! . . . Yes, Otabek got a bike. No, he was mostly aware it wasn’t legal . . .

“We heard you fighting yesterday,” Alain concludes. “Clearly this arrangement has not been good for either of you. You are BOTH under the legal drinking age, in the eyes of the law and of this household,” Alain says. “You have breached our trust for a long time and hidden it from us. You know this affects not just us, but your own skating careers.”

 

“I’m sorry, sir,” Otabek says.

 

Nathalie shakes her head. “Two in two days,” she sighs. “Otabek, you are a very talented young man, very bright, very polite, but this behaviour is unacceptable. Honesty is something we went over when you came here, not to mention drinking—”

 

JJ has been looking like he’ll burst with what he wants to say and now he does: “But _Maman,_ it is _not_ his fault, and it’s _not_ that bad, I should have stopped him but it’s really my fault –”

 

“No more from you,” Alain says, his tone like doomsday. Something in French. JJ, face scrunched in anger, turns with lips clamped and goes up the stairs: from this, Otabek can gather he’s been ordered.

 

And now Otabek stiffly faces the Leroys alone.

They tell him he will be going back to Kazakhstan. If he had done this, if he had done that, if all these things were a bit different, maybe they could reconsider, but this is a serious offense.

 

Otabek is fairly lost for words. He expected confrontation. He could have expected this very situation. But not this cause.

 

He starts to pack his things as told. JJ doesn’t come downstairs. Half his things are moved out, anyways, including his bed. The room is too empty.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It happens again: someone wakes up Otabek, not the other way around.

“JJ! What are you doing here?! They’ll catch you!” Otabek whisper-hisses.

It’s the dead of night (or early morning, as it were) and JJ’s in Otabek’s room, on his bed barely big enough for the two of them.

“I don’t care!” JJ whisper-hisses back. “I couldn’t sleep anyways! When are they sending you back?”

“I think tomorrow . . . well, this evening,” Otabek says.

JJ’s silent.

“I don’t know what to do,” he says after a bit, lying down next to Otabek, Otabek squirming over to make room.

“Message me,” Otabek says. _Or go back to Isabella._ Although he doesn’t even have to go back. He’s always been with her. The secret is safe. It’s terribly funny, and not in a good way. At least, if Otabek were to be sent home, at least that should have bought them something. Some kind of freedom.

But, this is better for JJ, in the end.

“Of course,” JJ says. “One more day of training.”

“They probably will keep us apart on purpose. Your mom’s coming today.”

JJ sighs.

“I hate this,” he says.

“Fucking sucks,” Otabek agrees.

JJ turns to face Otabek, like their first night. Weak light’s coming through the curtain, enough he can make out JJ’s features, but he just has to know that JJ’s eyes are blue for now. Can’t see it. Can’t see what will happen. Can’t see what they’ll become. His heart hurts like it’s been cut by surprise. He expected more time, at least, even if the bad should happen.

“I gotta go upstairs so they don’t miss me,” JJ explains.

“OK,” Otabek says.

But they don’t move.

“I don’t – I don’t really know if I love anyone, maybe I’m too young, but if I do, it’s you,” JJ says, Otabek kisses him before he can get away, and then, only then, does JJ leave.

 

* * *

 

 

At breakfast, Nathalie addresses the boys curtly, letting both know the order of today. They will do everything as usual and Otabek has a flight back home in the evening; they’ve let his parents know. Otabek messaged his parents; they’re disappointed, but maybe not exactly surprised. His parents have always been, as JJ would say, chill.

So they behave in form. Eat breakfast quietly and put dishes away. The other children have caught half a wind of everything that’s happening with Lacy – she’s leaving this morning – and now Otabek, but they only dare whisper about it when they’ve finished chores.

Otabek and JJ are at least permitted to walk to the gym and rink while Nathalie stays to see Lacy off.

They’re a block away from home and Otabek has a grudge against the sun shining so cheerfully, the sky so cloudlessly blue, on such a fucking stupid day, when JJ takes his hand.

They don’t say anything, but walk like that all the way until they’re inside and have to let go to change into gym strip.

 

* * *

 

 

Training is tense. Studying is tense. Supper, when it finally arrives, the day stretched nearly to its limits, is mildly tense. Otabek has always really been in his little corner of the table, by his own choice, so the conversation floats over him. Some of the kids ask questions about Lacy which are cleanly deflected for some later time.

If anyone is unusually silent, it is JJ, who picks at his food. This is the first time Otabek hasn’t seen JJ scarf down his meal when he’s not sick. If it’s good food, he can’t help but eat it fast; if it’s bad, he has to get it over with as soon as possible: those are the reasons. Otabek wants so much to stay and find out all these inner workings and reasonings that go on in JJ’s head. But there is no use thinking like that now.

Eventually, Alain lets Otabek know it’s time to get his things. They’re not mean about it. Rules are rules. Otabek still doesn’t have to like it. They’re kids. They’re young! Shouldn’t the Leroys expect this sort of thing? And they weren’t doing any harm to anyone. JJ shouldn’t have to live under half a rock for all his teenage years. _Rules are rules._

He’s collected his suitcases and got his shoes on at the door, his gut heavy and leaden, with Alain and Nathalie both accompanying.

JJ’s been hovering in the background.

“Can I come too,” JJ blurts out to his parents, who look at each other and nod.

JJ scrambles on his shoes and eventually everyone’s going to the airport, JJ and Otabek in the backseat.

Not watching each other, should they be watched.

 

* * *

 

 

Otabek lines up. He gets his boarding pass. They trundle down to security.

He’s at the sign that says a whole bunch of legal things, about to merge, about to go _home_ and maybe not see JJ until – well, until competition.

Otabek’s farewell to Mr. and Mrs. Leroy is an apology and a thank you. They aren’t mean. Nathalie says she is sorry that this circumstance occurred. Otabek says, _yes, I take responsibility for it._

They stand back.

Otabek turns to go through security, but JJ, JJ moves along with him up till the last step he can, so they leave the parents behind by a bit.

JJ wraps him in a hug, tight and long, and Otabek lets his suitcase go and returns the embrace.

“Message me OK? OK? I promise, Beks, I promise, I promise . . .” he says, quietly in his ear, and it sounds like he might be choking back tears. It must look strange to the parents, but to hell with that.

“I will, OK,” Otabek returns, but he feels like he’s going to cry too so he breaks them apart and heads through security, rounds the corner, so he can’t look back.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

In that moment the promise seemed as tough as steel, as bright as diamonds, as sure as the morning.

But the feeling of JJ’s arms around Otabek faded all too fast, back in Almaty, back with a new coach, back in his old bed.

Over a few years and more than a few competitions, messaged sent and received and not always answered, Instagram accounts and one familiar face (Bella), and then a ring that didn’t go on Otabek’s finger: over all this, a seething curiosity, to know, to _demand to know_ exactly what that promise meant.

 

* * *

 

 

After one year’s Grand Prix.

He has to resist.

He’s a good man, now. He’s got a bit of a reputation. He’s done well. (That quad sal has never left him.)

But maybe it’s time to make a bit of a slip. He needs to know what the promise means, what you get when you stitch together every look and touch that went between them. He has the right to know.

He knows which is JJ’s hotel room, and he knows Bella won’t be there, because JJ’s certainly a _good Catholic,_ and has certainly never told anyone otherwise: anyone but one other man.

Otabek still remembers. He remembers nearly everything.

As he goes, there’s alcohol slicking his steps, and maybe the _bad-but-so-good_ feeling that this isn’t about a civil discussion at all and maybe about the touch he’s been longing for ever since he had to leave, the touch that still lingers on his skin, still too light.


End file.
